


The Beginning of Forever

by Pixie (Ayiana)



Category: JAG
Genre: F/M, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-28
Updated: 2008-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayiana/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending for <i>Fair Winds and Following Seas</i>. After learning of their new duty assignments, Mac throws down the gauntlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of Forever

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note**: When JAG was still on the air we were fortunate to have an insider or two who could sometimes provide us with behind-the-scenes looks at early versions of the scripts. Most of the time what we got were fragments. In the case of FWAFS we got a significant chunk of script, including two possible endings to the episode, neither of which made it to the screen. I've incorporated a concept and fragments of dialogue from one of those fragments here. Details on the specific bits I borrowed follow the story.
> 
> **Author's Note 2**: My thanks to Theresa for forwarding me a copy of the sides, and to Vivienne for the beta help and encouragement.
> 
> **Dedication**: For TK, who's dangerously fond of the color purple.

The setting sun painted a pink and gold silhouette around the city skyline and gilded the leaves of the sycamore tree below her window. Muffled sounds filtered through the open office door—drawers closing, cheerful goodbyes, somebody making arrangements to meet somebody else for a drink after work. It was a time of day Mac usually loved, but tonight she hardly noticed.

_When you're ready, Mac, let me know …_

She blew out a frustrated sigh. He was going to London, for God's sake. London! If they couldn't make it work when they had offices in the same building, what chance did they have of making it work with half the damned planet between them? And if it was all so hopeless, why did the thought of leaving him behind tie her stomach in knots?

Her eyes settled on his car down in the lot. Its gleaming paint reflected the angled rays of the setting sun, and Mac remembered what it felt like to sit beside him while he drove, his hands strong and sure on the wheel, the fabric of his uniform pants stretched tight across his thighs. How many times had she thought about reaching across and resting her hand on his leg? How many times had she wondered what he'd say if she did?

One thing she knew for sure. There was no way in hell she was leaving Washington without some kind of resolution, one way or the other. She wasn't going to live the rest of her life plagued by endless and unanswerable "what if's."

She turned to her desk and pulled open the top drawer. The items she wanted were tucked away in a back corner, safely sealed inside a plain white envelope. She pulled it out, closed the drawer, and left the office before common sense could get a word in edgewise.

Eleven seconds later she gave a sharp rap on Harm's door and walked in without waiting for his response. He set aside his pen and leaned back in his chair, a guarded expression on his face. She'd seen that look too often lately, and she hated it, even though she knew she deserved it.

"Mac …?" His tone was wary.

She dropped the envelope on his desk.

"Keys," she said, in response to his raised eyebrow.

"To?"

"My apartment building. The big one's to the downstairs door. The small one's to my apartment. Sometimes it sticks a little, so you'll want to give it an extra hard push." She lifted her chin and lowered her voice, willing it not to tremble. She hadn't been this nervous since her first summation. "I won't be hard to find. I'll be the girl in the red silk camisole."

With that she spun on her heel and left before the last of her courage could desert her.

  
********************

  
Harm stared at the envelope, stunned. She'd just turned their relationship on its head with a few short sentences and a come-hither look that terrified him as much as it excited him. He switched his gaze from the envelope to the empty doorway. If this was her way of breaking the ice between them—he shifted uncomfortably in his chair—it was damned effective. But blatant seduction wasn't normally Mac's style.

Abruptly, he pushed himself back and got to his feet, leaving the envelope where it lay. He needed to talk to her.

But when he got to her office she'd already gone. He stared at her empty chair. Now what? And what was she offering, exactly? A fling? A one-night stand designed to get him out of her system before she left for greener pastures? He couldn't be that for her. But what if she was trying to tell him that she was ready for something more? If that was the case, and he didn't show up …

Back in his office, he picked up the envelope. The keys clinked as they fell to the opposite corner. Harm closed his fingers around them and lifted his head. He would call her bluff.

If it _was_ a bluff.

  
********************

  
By the time Mac got home she was furious with herself. There'd been a time when Harm might've accepted her offer, but today's not-so-subtle invitation had probably seemed both juvenile and a little desperate. The envelope would probably be sitting on her desk when she got to work tomorrow, and Harm would never mention it. The humiliation would be excruciating.

The apartment was quiet, but the familiar surroundings and muted colors did little to improve Mac's mood, and when a curtain fluttered at the window she spun toward it, half expecting an armed intruder to step across the threshold. Then she remembered she'd left it open that morning when she went to work. She started across the room to close it—and froze as a terrifying possibility occurred to her.

What if he did show up?

Her gaze shifted to the bedroom door. _Yeah, Mac, you brilliant crafter of spectacularly dumb ideas, what then? _

She pursed her lips and blew out an irritated sigh. She'd meet him with her head held high. She was a Marine, after all. But that meant—she glanced down at her uniform—she needed to change.

The quick bath did little to calm her nerves. Afterwards she brushed her hair, added mascara, lip gloss, and a touch of perfume, and then turned to her dresser. The camisole was wrapped in lavender-scented tissue paper in the top drawer. She'd bought it months ago but never worn it, unwilling to hide its sexy allure under a military uniform. She took it out and held it up against her body, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she had to fight down a surge of panic.

_Oh, God, what was I thinking? _

The color of ripe cherries, it was cut high on the thigh and low on the bust, with just enough lace to give the illusion of modesty. Mac shook her head. There was no help for it now. She set her jaw and reached for the matching panties, forcing her thoughts away from the possible confrontation looming on the horizon. _Sarah MacKenzie, you are an idiot._

Five minutes later she hung the damp towel in the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. She needed water. And ice. Lots of ice.

She was staring into the fire when she heard the key turn in the lock. Her pulse leapt, and the muscles in her legs and shoulders trembled. He'd come after all. But then, not many men would turn down an invitation like the one she'd given. Determined not to let him see how nervous she was, she straightened her spine, pulled her shoulders back, and turned to meet him.

  
********************

  
Harm pocketed the keys before stepping inside. The room was deeply shadowed, and there was an air of expectancy about it, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. He pushed the door closed, and the latch snapped into place with a soft metallic click. He reengaged the deadbolt with a flick of his wrist. When he turned back, he automatically sought out the sole source of light—and found Mac standing beside the fireplace. True to her word, she was dressed in a wisp of shimmering red silk that did little to curb his imagination. His mouth went dry as he stared at her. He'd always known she was a beautiful woman, but seeing her like this took his breath away.

Harm's heart thudded against his ribs as tension expanded into the space between them, a distance that suddenly seemed as vast and barren as the Sahara Desert. There was so much at stake, so many ways it could all go wrong, and the silence stretched as Harm fought a moment of paralyzing fear.

Across the room, Mac looked calm, but her toes curled and uncurled against the carpet. He noticed that her nails weren't polished, a fact that was somehow more exciting than the skimpy lingerie. With an effort, he cleared his throat and cast about for something to say.

"You look good in silk." _Lame, Rabb_. She was all shimmering silk and graceful curves, and he was all gangly arms and big feet and scratchy, too-warm uniform. He stifled the urge to tug at his collar.

Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. "I look better out of it."

The sultry reply evoked a mental image that made Harm swallow hard. Did she really think this was what it took to get his attention? Firelight and sexy lingerie? He'd have to set the record straight on that score. He took a measured step in her direction. "I'm sure you do."

She was dressed for seduction, but her posture was pure Marine—head up, shoulders squared, feet firmly planted. The tantalizing combination of strength and vulnerability was one of the things he loved about her, and if she expected him to run from it again she was in for a surprise. He was done running.

He took another step. "Are you sure about this?"

Her response was immediate. "Are you?"

A year ago he would've dodged that question. Now he stepped closer. "That depends."

"On?" She might've been facing him in a courtroom, fully dressed, instead of in her candlelit apartment wearing a scrap of red silk.

"I'm not interested in a one night stand, Mac." He held his breath. This was the where it could all fall apart.

She flushed slightly, but her head stayed high, and there was no trace of doubt in her voice. "Neither am I."

Fighting a smile, he took another step. "If we do this, it's for keeps."

Something flickered in her eyes, some emotion that came and went before he could put a name to it. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The next step brought him close enough to breathe in the fresh, clean smell of soap and a hint of perfume. She looked so vulnerable, but she was one of the strongest women he'd ever known. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. "No more doubts?"

He almost missed the small shake of her head. "No more doubts."

The last step ended in a slow trailing of his fingertip across her collarbone. Her skin was even softer than he'd imagined.

A faint hitch in her breathing brought his gaze back to hers. Her eyes were dark, the pupils dilated, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Gradually, he became aware of the press of her hands against his chest. When had she put them there?

He cupped the back of her head with his hand and touched his forehead to hers. "I love you, Mac."

  
********************

  
Despite her brazen attire and rampant bravado, Mac felt like a broken china doll whose carefully glued pieces hadn't quite set. Would loving him seal the cracks once and for all? Or would she shatter in his hands. She didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.

The buttons on his uniform glinted in the firelight, their cool solidity grounding her as she slid each one free. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Leaving it where it lay, she slid her hands up his body, studying him with her fingers the way she'd so often studied him with her eyes. He stood perfectly still, his only response a slow intake of breath as she touched his chest, her fingers light against the rise of muscle and then flattening so that his nipples pressed against the place in her lifeline where one path trailed off to nothing and another continued, strong and sure, across her palm. _Which path is ours, Harm? Which future are we choosing here tonight? She bit her lip and looked up._

He was watching her, a question in his eyes, and when she reached up to pull his head down to hers, he captured her wrists.

"I didn't tell you I loved you just to get you into bed."

"And I didn't invite you here just to get _you_ into bed." The words spilled out before she could censor them, but he only smiled a little and tilted his head. It was a gesture she'd seen him make a thousand times before. _Touché_.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" His touch was gentle, and she couldn't take her eyes off the hypnotic movement of his thumbs across her skin. "If you aren't ready ..."

She was practically throwing herself at him, and he was giving her another chance to say no. Sometimes he took this honor code thing a little too far. "I'm sure."

This time when she reached for him, he met her halfway.

His kiss was like coming home after a long trip abroad, when everything seemed both familiar and new, and the outlines of things were somehow sharper, the colors more vivid. She tasted him, pulled back a bit, and then leaned in again for more, a little surprised when he didn't suddenly start muttering excuses and backing away. Instead he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she had to fist her hands in his shirt in order to keep her balance.

He lifted his head, one hand tangled in her hair, the other bunched in the fabric at her waist, and stared at her. His eyes glittered with reflected firelight.

Confused, she blinked. "Harm …?"

And then he was kissing her again, his tongue seeking hers, his hands sliding low and then pulling her hard against him, and if she tilted her hips just … so … Oh, God. So long she'd waited for him to touch her like this.

She tugged at his undershirt, freed it, and pushed it out of the way. Her questing hands traced over ribs, spine, and shoulders before moving down, eager to discover all the hidden places she'd wondered about over the years. His pants were snug, but not so tight that she couldn't slide her fingers … there. He groaned into her mouth, so she circled the spot again, and this time his hips jerked against her. Triumphant, she kneaded the sensitive skin and went back to concentrating on the taste of his mouth and the shape of his teeth against her tongue.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and he straightened, but any regret Mac might've felt at the loss of his lips vanished when she felt him push the thin camisole straps off her shoulders. The fabric drooped dangerously but didn't give way, and Harm lifted his head to look at her. His eyelids were heavy with desire and when he spoke, his voice rumbled from somewhere low in his chest.

"Go topless for me, Mac."

That he should invoke that night, here and now … She swallowed, licked her lips, and tried to think past the moist heat that gathered between her legs.

"Is that a request?" Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears, and one corner of Harm's mouth turned up in a faint smile. He trailed a finger across the edge of her camisole, letting the blunt nail scrape the exposed crescent of darker skin. "Yeah, it is."

Mac sucked in a breath and closed her eyes against the tremors that ran through her at his touch. She remembered her next line as if it'd been minutes instead of years ago. But that night on the ferry she'd been trying to understand him. Tonight, she needed something else. "You're only like this with me, aren't you."

His expression turned serious again. He held her gaze as he nudged the camisole free with the tip of his finger. "_Only_ with you."

As the scrap of silk drifted to the floor, Mac let the last of her fears go with it. Whatever else might be true, this man was her future. Her fate had been tied to his, their lives inextricably intertwined, for nine years. It was time she stopped fighting it.

She watched his fingers move across her skin, warming it with his touch, leaving a chill behind when he moved on. He was so tender with her, reverent almost, but he was holding back. It showed in the tension in his shoulders and the faint lines that creased his brow. Why?

"Let go, Harm." She rested her hand over his, trapping his fingers against her breast. "It's okay."

"Mac … nine years." He shook his head. "It's a long time to wait."

"That's one hell of an understatement, Sailor." Amused, she pressed the back of her hand against his stomach, angled downward, and watched his eyes close as her fingers dipped inside the front of his slacks. "You don't intend to keep me waiting any longer, do you?"

"Jesus …" The word came out on a hoarse groan, and he took her mouth in a kiss that left no doubt about how badly he wanted her. It was all alpha male, demanding everything she had to give, and when he left her mouth to blaze a trail along her jaw she couldn't help the faint protest that rose in her throat.

"I don't know if I can be gentle, Mac." He chased the whispered words into her ear with the tip of his tongue, and Mac's legs gave way. He was ready for her, holding her securely against him while he lifted his head to look at her. "I've wanted this for too long."

Mac took a slow breath. "I don't want you to be gentle," she said. With studied deliberation, she licked the taste of him off her lips. "I just want you to be good."

  
********************

  
The quiet words combined with the look in her eyes and the touch of her hands against his skin to send Harm over the edge. So many years he'd watched her from afar, as friend, as peer, and as adversary, when in his heart he'd wanted so much more—even as the reality of their lives conspired to keep them apart. Now, finally, the time was right for them, and the desire he'd struggled to control for so long burst free.

The bedroom was too far away. The floor, too far down. He settled for the couch and hoped it was as sturdy as it looked. In the time it took to maneuver her over to it, her nimble fingers dispensed with the button and zipper of his slacks, which slid down his legs as they moved, creating an awkward moment and making Mac grin as he fought to rid himself of shoes and pants without letting go of her or falling flat on his face.

She sobered when he pushed her against the back of the couch, leaned into her, and dropped a string of hungry kisses along her neck. He punctuated them with a nip at her tender skin as he reached for her panties. She reached for his boxers at the same time, but he caught her wrists and pulled her away.

"Let me."

Without waiting for her response, he slanted his mouth across hers again, driving his tongue deep inside while he yanked at the elastic waistband of his shorts. He pulled them down one-handed. The other hand was tangled in her hair, holding her head still while he explored the farthest reaches of her mouth. A minute later, the silk panties joined his boxers on the floor. Then he reached down and lifted her … just … oh, yeah …her legs came around him as he pushed into her, one long sweet slide into moist heat.

Her hips were braced against the couch, her hands clenched at his back, and she made a quiet, hungry little sound, arched her back, and pulled him in with her legs, taking him deep. What had he imagined, when he'd thought of this moment? Had he guessed that she would be this ready for him? This eager? He couldn't have, because if he'd known how good this would feel, how right, he never would've been able to wait nine years. One thing he did know for sure as he pulled back slightly and then pushed forward again, hard, so that her fingers dug into his skin and her head fell back—he'd never be able to be without her again.

Back, and then forward again, driving into her over and over, listening to the sounds she made, feeling her supple skin in his hands as he reached for the explosive release that was already growing in his groin. Her inner muscles rippled along his length as he moved, and he knew that she was close to her own climax, but for some reason, she was fighting it. He wrapped his right arm around her back to support her, pressed the other flat against her stomach, and moved it down, letting his fingers comb through dark curls and onward to the warm, moist nub that made her choke out his name and jerk against him.

"Let it happen, Mac. Let it come." He circled, pressed down, circled again, and suddenly she was crying out, her body stiffening in his arms. He withdrew almost completely, paused, and drove into her again. Her fingers dug into his sides, the muscles in her legs holding him in a vice-like grip while he continued to move, continued to touch her. He'd always wanted to see her this way—her eyes rolled back, her face taut with pleasure, and her skin slick with sweat as she gave herself over to pleasure.

Her body pulled at his until he couldn't hold back any longer, and with a last, hard push he felt the myriad threads of need coalesce into an explosive climax. For a few minutes he lost contact with reality, and all he could do was hold onto Mac and wait for it to pass.

When it was over, he opened his eyes and found her watching him, a gentle smile on her face.

"Hey," he said softly, and reached to brush a stray strand of hair from her sweaty brow.

"Hey, yourself."

Her smile widened, and he realized how ridiculous the situation was. That two grown adults couldn't contain themselves long enough to make it to the bedroom was a little embarrassing. Her back must be killing her.

"Sorry about that." He helped her to regain her footing. The couch appeared none the worse for wear, though it had shifted a few inches closer to the coffee table. Harm tugged it back into place with a rueful grin. "Guess I was a little impatient."

Mac bent and snagged her underwear off the floor, twirling it around her finger as she straightened to face him. "If you ask me, I'd say it's about time."

Harm caught the panties, tossed them aside, and gathered her into his arms. It felt so good to hold her like this, the length of her naked body flush against his. "Speak for yourself, Marine. Whatever happened to 'full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes'?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head. "Admiral Farragut was Navy."

"Navy, Marines …" he shrugged. "Same thing."

"Good luck convincing my fellow jarheads of that."

The amused skepticism in her eyes made him grin, and he buried his face in her neck. He loved her so much.

"Stay here, tonight." Her voice was just a whisper of sound at his ear.

"Is that an invitation?" He pressed a kiss against the tender skin behind her ear and felt her tremble in his arms.

"Absolutely." She pulled away enough to look up at him. "Besides, it might be nice to try that again."

"Might?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

She smacked his chest lightly, grinning again. "Maybe we could even try it in a bed this time."

"Hmm…" He pretended to think about that. "You might have an idea, there." And this time, he would take it slow. His eyes traveled over her skin as he considered the possibilities. "Lead on, Marine."

She took his hand, brought it up between her breasts, and held it there. Her eyes locked on his, a mischievous gleam lurking in their depths. "Marines always lead the way, Harm."

Without bothering to answer, he pulled her toward the bedroom. She started to come with him, and then stopped suddenly, bringing him to a stop at her side. He turned to give her a quizzical look. She moved in close, her hands coming up to bracket his face.

"Hey, Harm?" Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks, and there was something earnest and intense about the look in her eyes.

"What?"

"I love you, too."

His heart soared. He caught her hands in his and brought them down to his lips. "Good to know." He pressed a kiss against her folded knuckles. "It does cause a problem or two, though."

She nodded. "Our jobs."

"Any ideas?"

Her shrug was eloquent in its lack of concern. "Not a one."

He rested his arm across the small of her back and pulled her close. "We'll figure something out."

Her head settled against his chest, her hair falling in a silken sweep against his upper arm. "We'd better."

They would. Because whatever happened, whatever it took, he was never going to walk away from her again.

"Come on." He pulled her toward the bedroom. "Let's get some sleep. We'll talk to the general tomorrow. Find out what our options are."

A few minutes later she was lying beside him, her skin warming his, her hands a welcome pressure against his chest as he bent to kiss her. She stretched beneath him and made a quiet sound in her throat that sounded suspiciously like a purr.

"So," he said, amused. "You like this, huh?"

Her response was an unladylike snort. "Don't be smug."

Instead of answering, he bent to kiss her again, and felt her hands move to his hips where she drew maddening circles against his skin.

"Mac ... if you keep doing that, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"Really?" She moved her hand, and he sucked in a breath. "What about this?"

"Just ..." He groaned. "You're going to kill me, woman."

She looked utterly unrepentant. "Should I stop, then?"

"God, no."

This time their lovemaking was tender and unhurried, punctuated with quiet murmurs and soft sighs. Afterwards Mac curled into his arms.

"I think—" she yawned and traced an abstract pattern on his chest, "I'm going to keep that camisole set for a long, long time."

Harm pressed a kiss against her temple. "I like the sound of that."

"Mmm …" Her voice was fading, heavy with sleep, but he could still hear her smile. "I thought you might."

The sudden swell of protectiveness took Harm by surprise, but he said nothing. Mac would drop-kick him into next week if she thought he believed she needed protecting. Still, as she nestled against him, her body relaxing into sleep, he made a silent promise.

_I'm here, Mac.   
For better or worse, in sickness or in health,  
For as long as we both shall live._

With that thought, he settled his head against the pillow, breathed out a long, contented sigh, and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The following lines came directly from the script sides:
> 
> _Mac: The big one's to the downstairs door. The small one's to my apartment. Sometimes it sticks a little so you'll want to give it an extra hard push. I won't be hard to find. I'll be the girl in the red silk camisole._
> 
> _Harm: You look good in silk._
> 
> _Mac: I look better out of it._


End file.
